Travel has always been a part of my life. When I was younger, I had the privilege of seeing so many places—Singapore’s skyline, Goa’s endless beaches, the charming streets of Pondicherry, and almost every place worth visiting in the States. But those were trips with my family, guided by my parents' plans and decisions. Moving back to India was the first time I got to explore on my own, learning what it meant to truly travel rather than just be taken somewhere.

My best friend became my first real travel companion. She took me everywhere in Pune, making sure I saw the city not just as a resident, but as an explorer. We hunted down earrings at FC Road, had the infamous Camp burger, hopped from one coffee shop to another, and spent hours just wandering through the city, making it our own. But our adventures weren’t going to stay within Pune’s borders. We wanted to see more.

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Our first solo trip was to Mumbai. Even though Pune and Mumbai were places we had grown up in, traveling there alone was an entirely different experience. We planned everything meticulously—researching all the places we wanted to visit, drawing up maps to figure out how many spots we could cover in a day. We hit Fort, the Gateway of India, Colaba, Nariman Point, the giant Zara store, and every cute café we could find. That first trip was structured and planned to the last detail, but as we grew more comfortable traveling, our trips to Mumbai became more spontaneous, more chaotic, and somehow, even more fun. Each visit felt different, but we always found ourselves going back to the spots we had unofficially claimed as ours.

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Then came our biggest adventure yet: Manali. Convincing our parents to let us go was a challenge, but after weeks of persuasion, we managed to book a tour. It was our first solo flight, our first time figuring out how to navigate airports and travel logistics without family guiding us. We met up with the rest of our travel group in Delhi before embarking on an exhausting but exhilarating bus journey. From Delhi, we went to Shimla, where we stayed a night and explored Mall Road, soaking in the old-world charm of the town. Then came another long ride to Manali, where we would spend three unforgettable nights.

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Manali was magic. We did everything—riding yaks, chatting with locals, hiking through the valley on our own, taking endless pictures of the mountains and the enormous, fluffy mountain dogs. Every moment felt like a new discovery, every turn of the road revealing another breathtaking view. The cold air, the scent of pine, the mix of adventure and peace—it was unlike anywhere else we had been. Our last stop before heading home was Chandigarh, India’s first planned city, where we spent one final night reminiscing about the journey before returning to reality.

What started as a few small trips with my best friend turned into something much bigger. We became travelers—not just tourists, but people who could adapt anywhere, find joy in the smallest local experiences, and return home with stories and souvenirs for our families. We learned independence, how to navigate unfamiliar places, how to blend in and connect with people from all walks of life. Our travel group, people we had known for just a week, became like family, and we still keep in touch with one of our tour guides. We still talk about the elderly couple from our group who treated us like their own grandchildren.

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Every trip taught us something new, shaped us into people who could find adventure anywhere. More than anything, it showed us how vast and beautiful India is—how each place has its own rhythm, its own personality. And as much as we love coming home, the best part of every journey is knowing that there’s always another one waiting to be planned.